


Crossing lanes

by GwenChan



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Cold War, Falling In Love, Fishing, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Period-Typical Homophobia, Separation Anxiety, Soviet Union, Submarines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 07:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15137954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwenChan/pseuds/GwenChan
Summary: When fisherman Yuuri ends up overboard during a storm it should be his end.Instead, he survives long enough to be rescued by a Soviet submarine passing by, whose handsome Captain may bring Yuuri to stay longer than planned.Welcome on board.





	Crossing lanes

**CROSSING LANES**

 

24 SEPTEMBER 1976,

44°10’39.306” N, 152° 36’25.531” E

OFF HOKKAIDO COASTS

 

Yuuri smelled like fish. The overall situation he was in could have improved after a good, long shower, but the smell of freshly caught tuna seemed to have penetrated under his skin. Fish was cleaned directly on board before being frozen; by the end of the day Yuuri had fragments of entrails and scales between his hair, blood to the elbows, and the conviction promptly refuted that he couldn’t stand to see a tuna anymore, not even in photography.

 

It had been a fruitful day.

 

Once in the cabin he put on a pair of old but clean pants, a dry sweatshirt and a heavy turquoise high neck sweater, his favourite; it was dedicated to the end of a good day. He stroked the big braid knitted on the chest of the garment and buried his face in the wool. Time and wear had softened the fabric; and it smelled like home.

 

A few hours later he was walking on the deck of the _Eros_ , the fishing boat he had been working on since about a half-a-year, his hands squeezed in the pockets of a yellow tarp poncho.

The droplets wetting his face were cold, a sign of how far north they had gone in comparison to the usual hunting areas. But this year, something pushed the tunas out of their usual lanes and the _Eros’s_ Captain had no choice but to follow them.

In any case, fishing season was about to end. After having started later than expected, it lasted until mid-September. Now, however, the fast approaching of the autumn had started to make fishing dangerous, with typhoon-season in the Western Pacific at its peak.

“I prayed Kuroakami to delay the storm.”

Yuuri heard a familiar voice behind him. He turned.

“Ah, Nishigori. You also worried?”

“Yeah. I count the hours before the moment when I’ll be able to hug again my Yuuko and my little girls. “

 

Takeshi was a couple of years older than Yuuri. When they both were children, he had fun mocking him, and he married his childhood sweetheart, Yuuko. Yuuri, too, had had a crush on her as a teenager; however, already back then it was quite clear for whom the woman’s heart beat.

Yuko and Takeshi would soon celebrate their sixth wedding anniversary. The couple had also been blessed by the birth of triplets, three little troublemakers with a sense of business already from the crib. Not yet seven years old, they had taken over the promotion of the sailing school their mother ran. Along with the Yu-topia Katsuki, the hot springs complex owned by Yuuri's parents, it had become one of Hasetsu’s crown jewels. Yuuri almost didn’t recognize it when he returned to his hometown in Southern Japan one semester ago, after five years spent on a fishing boat flying the US flag.

 

The period spent on _Ciao Ciao’s_ – this was how Yuuri’s best friend, Phichit, had nicknamed Captain Celestino Cialdini – fishing boat had taught Yuuri new fishing techniques, different and sometimes more innovative in comparison to those still in use in Kyushu. The last fishing season had been almost a nightmare for Yuuri; it was riddled with mistakes that more than once had almost cost the whole daily catch. This was why, in the end, he decided to return home.

He had spent some weeks wandering around his hometown with neither a destination nor an objective, until the sea had called him again to the shores. The sea guided him on the _Eros,_ where Yuuri had reunited with Takeshi and become acquainted with a young fisherman, Kenjiro Minami. Apparently the boy considered Yuuri to be his idol.

“I’m sure Kuroakami will be merciful”

 

25 SEPTEMBER

41°10’43.154” N, 146°31’43.601” E

OFF HOKKAIDO COASTS

 

The following day it became clear Kuroakami hadn’t heard Takeshi’s prayers and even if they had reached his ears, the god had decided they weren’t worth his time.

The crew woke up with rough seas. A freezing wind from the Canadian coasts was sweeping the sea surface covered in a greyish foam. Angry waves crashed against the _Eros’_ hull in a roar of splashes. Already once they had been high enough to wet the bridge.

 

By late afternoon, the big cumulonimbus clouds Yuuri had seen on the horizon the same morning thickened right above the boat; they were anthrax-coloured and full with rain. The sky became dark as if it was night. The wind was blowing pitilessly. It made it almost impossible to move or to even stand. Generally with such climatic conditions, the _Eros’_ Captain gave the order to go below deck, waiting for the storm to pass. That day, however, prudence was sacrificed for opportunity to fish one last time and improve a not particularly good season.

Unfortunately, tunas must have perceived the danger and hadn’t taken the bait. On the other hand, one of the crates where fish was preserved under ice had broken the tires with a popping sound. This had forced Yuuri and Takeshi to rush to fix it. Yuuri had been almost crushed.

 

For the umpteenth time, he checked that his lifejacket was well-bonded. The drizzle from the morning of the previous day had turned into an annoying rain and eventually a violent downpour. Yuuri and the others had their rubber boots full of water; their hair was drenched; their hands were numb from the cold. The visibility was so awful Yuuri could have taken off his glasses, secured behind his nape, and it would have made no difference.

“Damn it,” Takeshi snapped when a violent wave hit him.

“You alright?” Yuuri yelled, busy holding on to the windward rail.

“Wonder” – another wave – “fully,” Takeshi answered over the storm’s roar. A lightning bolt lit the sky. Yuuri counted five seconds before the thunder rumble arrived. The whole ship hull trembled. The guy ropes creaked under the crates’ weight and the torrent’s force.

In that moment, a new wave lifted the _Eros_ enough to bring the fishing boat almost perpendicular to the sea’s surface. Yuuri, who was astern, found himself with his head just a hair above the water.

 

With horror, he saw Minami being dragged by gravity from the bow to crash against him. He pulled a hand out of the windward rail and grabbed the boy's wrist before he could fall overboard.

“Thanks,” Minami gasped. A usually cheerful face was distorted by terror. It wasn’t the first time they encountered a storm, but by far they had been nothing more than summer showers; nothing to do with the one on-going.

“Hold on.”

Yuuri was grateful for having strong arms. The effort to hold on to both himself and Minami at the same time was about to dislocate his shoulders. He felt the other boy’s wet fingers slipping from his.

He sighed with relief when, driven by a new wave, the _Eros_ returned to her horizontal position, landing with a sonorous splash. One more second and Yuuri wouldn’t have resisted any longer. He struggled back to his feet. A new thunder broke the horizon. Minami clung to him. Minami had boarded the last season, showing right away a great enthusiasm and a strong admiration for Yuuri. Yuuri wasn’t just a mentor for Minami. In the boy’s eyes, Yuuri was more like a species of half-god.

Takeshi hadn’t missed the chance to mock Yuuri for this. He scolded Yuuri for being insensible every time he shied away from Minami's appreciation and affection.

“The kid has a giant crush. Be kind!” Takeshi told him one evening, putting an arm around his shoulder. Yuuri had shielded himself.

On another occasion, Minami would squeal in happiness for the chance to hug Yuuri like he was doing. He would blush to the root of his bleached hair. This time, however, the umpteenth wave came to roll the _Eros_ to starboard. Yuuri was smashed against the windward rail once again. The blow left him breathless. He couldn’t see anything. The rain was too thick.

 

 

27 SEPTEMBER

38°57’33.872” N, 145° 1’10.312” E

OFF HOKKAIDO COASTS

 

The Vydra, two hundred tons of Soviet submarine class Victor II, was moving slowly, almost immobile, two hundred metres deep a few miles off Japan’s coasts. In the last six months he had crossed the Pacific high and low in a non-stop hunt with another submarine, her twin for skill and size but flying a different flag. Thus, the Vydra had tailed the Chicago up to the Australian coast and back before the order to turn the tide for a new mission came. There had still been time, however, to stop for some days at the base of Vilyuchinsk; there sailors were allowed to stretch their legs, have fun, and go to town before boarding again.

In the last half hour, a new dot had appeared on the sonar screen.

 

The sonar technician pressed a pair of headphones against his left ear while the other was left free in case of orders.

“Are we sure they aren’t our old friends?” he asked.

“Too slow to be them, Gosha,” another man said, putting a hand on the first man’s shoulders and leaning forward to examine the sonar himself. “Tell me if it starts to move,” he added, before moving toward the control room.

Victor Nikiforov was twenty-seven years old and for one week he was unofficially in command of the Vydra since the official Captain 1st Rank had been stuck in bed with a severe case of flu. According to him, his lungs and brain were filled with so much mucus he wouldn’t have been able to drive a toy boat, let alone a nuclear submarine. Since then, Victor had taken the command of the submarine, surpassing in prowess both the Captain 2nd Rank and 3rd Rank.

After all, it wasn’t necessary the high ranks in Moscow knew one of the most important components of the fleet was in the hands of a 27-year-old whose headshots were as famous as his genius.

Now, the presence of another submarine in the immediate proximity didn’t bother Victor that much; at the same time, however, he didn’t like the situation. He moves aside a couple of maps cluttering the table to retrieve an approximate layout how the US and USSR fleet were dislocated. Six months of espionage had been useful for discovering the US had two submarine Los Angeles class in the Bering Sea plus an Ohio class off the Hawaiian coast. Four destroyers patrolled the area and two cruisers completed the picture.

 

The Soviet fleet had four submarines to guard North Pacific waters, two of which were too far from Vydra’s current position, according to the latest information.

“I bet it's the Kit,” he announced at the end of his exam. The Kit belonged to the generation before Vydra; it was a good submarine but quite slow. “Or the Lenin.”

“Anyway, it’s moving,” Gosha informed him, shouting from the adjacent Sonar room. His real name was Georgi, but everybody called him Gosha.

“Direction?”

“She’s moving away.”

Victor tapped his lower lip with the index finger, one eye staring at the maps on the table.

“Submarine at periscope depth,” he ordered. Then he pressed his eyes against the lenses, his back curved because he was tall. With his hands around the handles, he maneuvered the instrument to a full turn. Outside, it seemed all quiet. Thick clouds were drifting to the horizon, herald of an imminent and violent storm, something that rarely represented a nuisance for the Vydra. The wind was blowing; the rough waters were a desert: no sign of ship of smaller vessel struggling to keep up with the waves’ fury. Clearly everybody had followed the weather forecast before setting up a lane and giving priority to calmer water.

All except one.

Victor squinted his eyes behind the periscope's lenses, but there was no doubt of what that yellow spot floating in the cold waves was.

“Man overboard!”

 

Normally, when Victor Nikiforov had his head set on something, it was impossible to make him change his mind. And now he had decided he couldn’t leave a poor soul to die in the ocean.

A few minutes later he was already out Vydra’s hatch, his lungs breathing brackish air. He looked through a pair of binos. The man was still there, a yellow spot in an endless blue. At Victor’s side there was another officer, who tried again to talk him out what he was about to do.

 

“Victor - I mean Captain - the sea is too rough. You’ll never get to him without a lifeboat. “

Victor ignored him, more focused on securing a cable’s length around his hips. “Andreev, trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“You also told us the time when we almost crashed against - what was her name - Austin?”

“Houston. But we didn’t crash.”

“Barely!”

Without another second of hesitation, Victor did something brave and foolish: he dived.

 

The frigid waters took his breath away, biting his skin like liquid fire. The wet clothes became heavy in a moment; they would drag a less experienced swimmer to the bottom. But Victor was born and raised in Leningrad, where he learnt to swim before he could even walk. The cold waters of the Gulf of Finland had been his gym.

After checking that the cable’s length around his waist was well-secured, Victor turned to his side and cut through the waves with a precise and powerful crawl.

When he was close enough, he noticed with relief the man was wearing a life jacket; it was keeping him afloat even if the forces had long abandoned him. His mouth was half-submerged under the water level; his face was cyanotic. Nevertheless, Victor couldn’t avoid noticing the stranger was kind of cute, even covered in salt and on the verge of croaking.

Victor wasted no time. He turned the poor fellow on his back, putting his own arm around the man’s waist and almost making his back adhere to his chest. Then he tugged at the cable’s length, swimming with a backstroke meant for covering long distances without dispersing energies. Adrenaline pulsed under his skin.

 

Back inside the Vydra, Victor gave orders with cold efficiency.

“Crash dive. One hundred meters. 30 ° North, 163 ° East.”

“Aye, Captain.”

While men hurried to comply, setting the new lane designed to conceal Vydra’s position in case the recent surfacing had acquired unwanted attention, Victor was already taking off both the stranger’s and his own wet garments.

“Call Medical Officer Kulikov, hurry! And bring dry towels and warm clothes.”

Then he leaned forward to shift the wet bangs from the man’s forehead. He pressed his thumb against the man’s purple bottom lip.

“Don’t worry. You're safe now. I won’t let you go. “

 

Medical Officer Kulikov was a little, stubborn, and outspoken man. In his youth he had made his bones as a military doctor during World War II and then had boarded a cruiser just after the end of the conflict. The experience on the Vydra was, by now, his third on a submarine. Not a wound could impress him now. He was also obsessed with prevention; more than once he had locked a man in the infirmary as soon as he had manifested the first symptoms of flu. When Victor brought Yuuri to him, he grunted. “First flu and now a half-drowned!”

 

 

He hardly looked at the man in Victor's arms. “He’s doomed,” was his judgment. “Put him in a bunk if you want, hold his hand, I know you would, but he won’t live to see tomorrow.”

Victor ignored Kulikov's words. There was a gurney in the room. Victor carefully put Yuuri onto it. He was as pale as a corpse, except from the fingers, which were dark blue.

“I beg you, Aleksey, do something. You made a oath or am I mistaken?” he pleaded. Kulikov took a deep breath, but eventually approached Yuuri; the boy was barely breathing.

“I don’t understand why you care so much,” he mumbled, visiting the dying man with cold efficiency.

“So?” Victor exclaimed when Kulikov finished his visit. The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose, taking off his glasses.

“What can I say, Vitya? This man should be dead. He must have been at sea for almost two days. I don’t know how he can still be alive. But for me, he’s still doomed. I doubt he can get through the night. “

“Do what you can, still.”

Victor grabbed Yuuri's inert, cold hand in his, and squeezed it. He winced when Kulikov touched his back.

“Vitya,” Kulikov called for his attention.

“What?”

“You should go back to your men.”

Victor ignored him, his attention captured by Yuuri.

“Victor!”

“I cannot leave him.”

Kulikov slapped him, age more important than hierarchy at the moment. “Vitya,” he repeated, with a strict, but tender voice, “Yakov entrusted you with Vydra’s command. All men on board are under your responsibility. You cannot stay holding the hand of a stranger you picked up from the ocean,” he muttered, like a stern father dealing with a disobedient and capricious son.

Victor protested, but Kulikov anticipated his doubts. “I will do my best.”

Victor finally let go of Yuuri's hand, which fell lifeless at his side.

 

Kulikov took Yuuri as a challenge, especially after the young man got through the night, refuting his sad diagnosis. A fever rose to forty degrees. The sick boy's forehead, sticky with sweat, burnt; his teeth continued to rattle and violent shivers were shaking his body. Kulikov gave him a serum. Then he picked up one of his medical books and began to read, throwing here and there a glance to the patient.

 

Throughout the day Victor sent someone, a different sailor every hour, to inquire about the situation. In the evenings, he came himself.

“He has a good temper,” Kulikov said cutting to the chase. “But the fever is still high.”

“How many chances does he have now?”

“More than yesterday, but as long as he doesn’t wake up I cannot consider him off the hook.”

There was a moment of silence, interrupted only by Yuuri's feeble whimper when Kulikov injected a new dose of serum. “I've done everything I could by now. Keeping him here or elsewhere would make no difference, provided he remains isolated. I don’t want an outbreak on Vydra. “

“I've already talked to Yakov. He will stay in the Captain's room. “

Kulikov sighed, not convinced. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

 

30 SEPTEMBRE

20°37’58.023” N, 138°9’50.625” E

PHILIPPINES SEA

 

During the delirium caused by the fever, Yuuri was more than once on the verge of waking up; however as soon as consciousness started to re-emerge, oblivion returned to muffle him, bringing him back into the abyss like sea with rip tides. Yuuri’s coma was at first populated by dreams of storms, the same scene repeated in a endless loop. Then they were just darkness and coldness. Something was pulling Yuuri toward the bottom, twice stronger every time the young man tried to fight it. Yuuri saw the sun beyond the water’s surface, a far away dot from another universe, but the more he moved, the more it became unreachable. Something grabbed his ankle. He kicked to get free, trying to stretch a hand toward the knife he always carried in his pocket, but noticed he was too weak to move. He couldn’t curl his fingers. His lungs were on fire. Yuuri felt them flaming, exploding in his chest. The pressure on his ears was unbearable. Yuuri would’ve cried in pain if he hadn’t been busy using his last glimmer of lucidity to swim back to the surface. His head was spinning from the effort, the cold, and the lack of oxygen. He fought against a body that had already accepted the idea he would soon die and was letting go. The surface was so far away. Way too far for Yuuri to reach it before his head exploded. 

The last sparkle of consciousness fell. The labial muscles gave in to the impulse to relax. Water invaded the lungs.

 

Yuuri woke up still convinced he couldn’t breathe. When his breath stabilized, he found himself in a cabin not too different from the one the _Eros_ ’s Captain lived in, but bigger and emptier. For a moment, he thought he had died. After a while, however, it seemed weird to find such an ambience in the afterlife. Yuuri unglued his eyelids with difficulty, squeezing his eyes in the dim light. The little room was dark, apart from the weak light of an wall-lamp hanging over the bunk. 

Without his glasses, Yuuri could hardly distinguish anything. He patted the mattress around him with jerky movements; fortunately, someone had left his glasses on the pillow, from where Yuuri recovered them with a sigh of relief and gratitude.

He sat up, struggling against dizziness. This cabin was bigger than the one on _Eros_ or any other Yuuri had ever seen. It was also bare and this gave the illusion of it being more spacious. The opposite side of the bed was occupied by a retractable desk, embedded inside a bookcase. Most of the books had the spine in Cyrillic, but Yuuri also recognized a pair written in English. He leaned over to look under the bunk, to find a series of drawers. Standing against the bottom was a padlock and a black couch, in front of which there was a low table of the same colour. The floor was made of green linoleum. A heavy nautical clock was hanging on the wall. No photos.

Yuuri had just noticed the complete absence of portholes when the door opened. The newcomer couldn’t be older than seventeen. He wore a dirty apron over his sailor's uniform, had his hair tied in a little ponytail, and looked at Yuuri as if he was irritated with him for some reason. He was pushing a shiny kitchen trolley.

The newcomer spoke quickly and for every two words in English there was one in Russian, but this was how the conversation went overall.

 

“You woke up. Finally. You scared the crap out of us. Who is so crazy to go out with this shit weather?”

Yuuri shrugged, rubbing his hands in his lap.

“We were caught by surprise,” he admitted in a dry voice; it broke remembering the shipwreck. Yuuri took his head in his hands, the images of those last moments more vivid than ever. He remembered the _Eros_ in full swing of the waves, the ropes unrolled by the wind’s fury, young Minami’s grip becoming weaker and weaker until Yuuri had let him fall. He had let him fall. He had seen the boy sink into the swirling waves. He had assisted helplessly as Minami agitated in an attempt to fight against the big waves that kept hitting the boy without giving him time to catch his breath.

Yuuri had thrown Minami a lifebelt a moment before the ocean came to claim him too.

“What day is today?” he asked instead.

“Monday.”

The wreck had been on Wednesday.

“Really, you've been lucky. We picked you up on Friday night and I swear tat you're back from the otherworld. Then the fever has raised,” continued the sailor. He pointed a finger at Yuuri, as if he had to blame him for having ended up overboard.

Yuuri brought the back of his hand to his forehead. It was still warm. The pyjamas he was wearing were sweaty and stinking. There were scabs in the corners of his eyes making it difficult to keep them open. Yuuri scratched them off with the sleeve. His throat hurt and his head was spinning like a pinwheel.

“Anyway, I brought you a hot soup. And if I do not find the dish clean when I come back, I’ll put a funnel in your mouth and pour boiling borscht in it.”

The sailor, who Yuuri thought must be a Cook’s assistant, pointed toward the trolley.

Yuuri nodded. To his great surprise, the boy helped him to place a wooden tray on his knees so that the objects on it couldn’t fall. Then he placed a bowl of dark red, almost purple soup, a sandwich, and a cup filled with what Yuuri smelled to be tea.

“I drink it bitter,” he stopped the young man who was already about to drop a pinch of sugar in the hot drink.

“Well, you do not need extra sugars.”

Yuuri graciously took in the comment about his appearance. Feeling the weight of the other's eyes on him, he filled the first spoon of soup.

“Victor wanted you for dinner, but I made him change his mind.”

Yuuri nodded distractedly. He blew on the soup before taking the first sip. Before he could appreciate the taste, he felt the liquid’s heat burning his palate and guts. Then, came the taste. Beetroot dominated the palate, along with a note of acidity Yuuri couldn’t recognize.

“Good. I’ll go back to the kitchen.”

“Wait. You haven’t told me where am I. Nor who you are.”

“Help-cook, Yuri Plisetsky. What's that smile?” The second-Yuuri frowned, his hands tight around the food cart’s handle.

“Nothing. Yuuri’s my name too.”

Plisetsky made a sound of disapproval with his lips. “Eat, it cools!”

“And where am I?” Yuuri insisted.

“In the cabin of Vydra’s Captain. Victor convinced Yakov to make you sleep here.’

Yuuri nodded distractedly. The name didn’t ring any bell. Again he examined the room. The absence of portholes gave him a vague sense of claustrophobia.

“As I imagined, you aren’t used to it,” the other Yuri commented as if he had read his thoughts.

“At what?”

“Closed spaces.”

Yuuri bowed his head in admission. “I'm a fisherman,” he justified himself, “I'm used to working outdoors. I need a bit of fresh air.

Again, that sound of disapproval. Plisetsky did the same grimace Yuuri had seen so many times by old sailors toward newbies who still smelled like mainland.

“You'll have to adapt. We cannot re-emerge now. In fact, we will not come back for quite a while. “

“Resurfacing?”

“The Vydra is a submarine,” the other Yuri laughed.

And with this revelation, he exited.

 

Yuuri had drunk until the last drop of borscht when the cabin door opened again. He dropped the spoon onto the plate.

In front of him, dressed in a dark blue uniform, almost black, with the collar unbuttoned was the angel who saved him. An angel with a handsome face, blond-silver hair, and warm blue eyes.

When he saw him awake, the stranger smiled.

“I see you've finished all the borscht. Yura will be happy. He wanted to bring it personally. He's so grumpy, but he has a heart of gold. He was so angry when I suggested you could eat with the others.”

_Victor wanted you for dinner, but I made him change his mind._

So this angel was called Victor. A perfect name for a perfect person.

Suddenly, Yuuri was too conscious about his appearance, his hair messy from having slept for almost three days straight, the sweat covering his skin, his swollen eyes. Above all, he needed a shower.

“The doctor says if you woke up the worst is over,” Victor resumed after a moment of silence. He sat on the bunk’s edge. Yuuri curled his legs to his chest to make room for Victor. A shiver travelled along his spine. In addition to being handsome, Victor smelled good and all at once it became difficult for Yuuri to speak. Moreover, a full stomach and the last remnants of fever had tired him a whole lot. He struggled to keep his eyelids raised open.

“Don’t worry, we'll get you home,” he heard the other murmur, but he was already sinking into unconsciousness by that point. Still, Yuuri felt the man's hand on his forehead. It was cool.

 

2 OCTOBER

12°12’40.249” E, 135°N

OFF PHILIPPINES SHORES 

It took another two days for Yuuri to have enough strength to be able to stand again without his legs beginning to shake the moment he got his body’s weight on them. The other Yuri had continued to feed him borscht and hot tea as if they were a universal panacea and the Medical officer had increased the dose of his pills.

Moreover, after that, Yuuri had expressed his desire to have a shower. Vydra’s Captain had sent another sailor - a brown-haired young man - to help him. Cleansing had made Yuuri feel so much better.

He was happy to see it, well-folded at the bottom of the bunk, there was a laundered sailor uniform. He put it on. It was a bit too large, the sleeves covered his hands, and he had to fold the pants’ heels a couple of times not to trip; on the hips, on the contrary, the pants were a bit tight.

The uniform was not the only thing left in the cabin. Where a moment before the clothes were, Yuuri saw a note folded in four. He put on his glasses and opened it. It contained a quick sketch of Vydra’s layout, with a red line drawing the path Yuuri should follow to get to the wardroom.

The Vydra had the tapered shape of the majority of submarines, designed to push through deep waters with the least possible resistance. The stern, ending with a giant propelling helix, was occupied by the emergency electric motor and the huge generator connected to the nuclear reactor. Then it followed to the room of the missile tubes. The central body was occupied by the areas destined for the crew’s daily life, all arranged on two floors. The lower one hosted the kitchen, the canteen, and the sleeping areas. In the upper were the wardroom, the controlroom, the sonar room, and the torpedo room. At the centre of the main body there was a study tower, intended to host the periscope and the radio antennas. Finally, the spindle was destined for the torpedo launch tubes.

 

Yuuri flipped the note. On the back there were two lines in Cyrillic and a quick English message.

“Show this if someone stops you.”

Yuuri had taken just a few feet outside the cabin before he came across the other Yuri, busy in pushing a trolley loaded with plates. Yuuri greeted him.

“Breakfast?” He asked, pointing to the dishes. He had lost his watch during the shipwreck and had no idea what time it was now.

“Lunch. Where are you going?” the other Yuri answered. How did Victor call him? Ah, Yura. Yuuri showed him the note with the map. Yura examined it quickly.

“Yes, it isn’t far away. Do you think to get there alone or do you need a guide?”

Taking the note back, Yuuri stared at the other in surprise. He folded the map and slipped it into his pants’ pocket. There was a strange mix of mockery and kindness in the Cook’s assistant's offer; but in the days of illness, Yura had taken care of him. Of this, Yuuri had no doubts.

“If you have nothing else to do.”

Yura shook his head, pointing to the trolley. “I just have to bring these to the kitchen. Ah, perfect timing.’

With a gesture of his hand he stopped a passing sailor. “You. Can you bring them to the kitchen? Fantastic.”

Having gotten rid of the trolley, he turned to Yuuri with a big, satisfied smile.

In the short journey Yuuri discovered a lot of things about Yura, including his hate for the nickname Victor had given him, _Yurio_.

He narrated with passion about how one of his grandparents - Yuuri did not understand well whether his father's or maternal branch - had cooked for years on board ships and submersibles.

“He boarded the Volya,” Yurio said proudly. When Yuri didn’t show the expected enthusiasm, he added, “It was an important submarine. I am surprised by your ignorance.”

Yuuri shrugged. Yurio had already re-started the resumé of how his grandfather had brought him on a submarine - Deka-something - when he wasn’t five years old yet and how he had fallen in love since then; to the point of pulling strings to board at only fourteen years.

After a two-year period with his grandfather, the Vydra was the first time Yurio found himself independent.

Among other things, Yurio also explained how Victor had been unofficially Vydra Captain 1st rank for a couple of weeks and how the true Captain, still convalescing from pneumonia, had in fact left him in command.

“It's good Moscow is so far away now,” Yurio commented, after having assured there were no prying ears around; but everyone else was too busy carrying out their tasks to wander where the wardroom was located. Yurio led Yuuri through a series of narrow corridors, stopping occasionally to point out a particular turn or explain what lay behind a door.

“Well, I guess Victor will decide what to do with you. Can you go back alone? “

Yuuri nodded. Yurio waved off his thanks with a gesture of his hand.

 

Victor was sitting at the head of a massive desk in a room tapered with nautical maps, most covered with coloured pins. Hanging on the wall opposite the door was Lenin's picture. Another painting decorated the wall to the right. Yuuri wondered if it was hiding a safe, perhaps for important documents.

Victor was bent over a sheet of paper, his fringe almost touching the table. His eyebrows were frowning and he was biting the cap of a fountain pen.

Yuuri cleared his voice, giving a couple of quick knocks at the door to announce his presence. Victor lifted his head from the paperwork. A smile spread over his face.

“You didn’t get lost, I see. Was the map useful?’

“Yurio accompanied me,” Yuuri revealed, stepping into the room at Victor's gesture to sit down. “Bureaucracy?” He then asked, pointing to the papers scattered everywhere. Some had ended up on the floor.

“The boring part of commanding a ship,” Victor sighed. “Tea?” He then offered.

“Gladly.”

Victor filled two cups. In his, he squeezed a whole tube of strawberry jam. He left Yuuri’s untouched.

“You drink it bitter, right?”

Yuuri nodded. The tea was dense, almost pasty, just a little more than lukewarm. Yuuri tried to focus on it, his eyes glued to the whirling fluid. He was so caught by it he startled when Victor spoke again. There was the noise of porcelain against wood.

“I’ll be clear, Yuuri, we are in the middle of the Pacific and at the moment I have no way of dropping you off without risking the mission I’ve been entrusted with by the Moscow government.”

 

As he explained, they were too far from the coast to have a copter recover Yuuri, and the nearest Soviet carrier was now at least five days of navigation, on a lane opposite to Vydra’s.

“And before you were too weak to be moved,” Victor continued, sounding almost as if he was apologizing. Yuuri blew on his tea for no other reason than doing something. Victor's presence and closeness made him uncomfortable; he felt his cheeks heating up whenever those sky-coloured eyes lay on him.

“When we are close to the US coast we can drop a lifeboat in the water and put you in the condition to call for assistance. Or - “

“Or?”

“You could stay with us until we return to Vilyuchinsk base. There isn’t a risk-free option,” he warned. Yuuri tightened his hands around the cup.

“How long before reaching the American coasts?” He asked.

“About a week. I've lengthened the lane for safety. Maybe less with engines at full power. “

Yuuri reflected on the piece of information. “And if I chose the second option?”

“Three Months, minimal,” was Victor's approximation.

“I think I'll opt for the first, then,” Yuuri considered, talking more to himself than to the other. There was a moment of silence, then Yuuri said, “Where are we at the moment?”

“Off the Philippines.”

“There are news about-”

Yuuri’s voice died in his throat. He tried again. “Are there any news about my colleagues?”

Victor shook his head in denial. He seemed sorry. Yuuri looked at him from above the brim of the now empty cup. Victor was undoubtedly young, but there were already wrinkles of expression at the corners of his eyes and mouth. He had high cheekbones and a squared jaw, but placed on an oval face that softened the overall picture. He had blue eyes, of a colour Yuuri didn’t think could exist; they caused him a shiver every time he crossed his gaze. And he felt stupid.

“Unfortunately, communications with the outside are limited. However, I wouldn’t mind knowing what happened. If you feel like it, of course. “

 

Yuuri closed his eyes. Immediately, the images of the shipwreck were there, vivid as painted pictures, so close Yuuri felt the cold rain. The Eros was rolling uncontrollably, a shell of walnut at the mercy of the ocean. A life-saver had detached from his support, lifted by the wind without difficulty, and had hit Minami on the temple, hard enough to spill blood. Yuuri couldn’t breathe. The Eros’ deck had become so slippery.

Yuuri had seen the wave, the last in an endless series, rising in all its monstrous power. He understood he had not escaped a moment before being thrown overboard.

He remembered little of the time spent in the sea, apart from the desperation with which he had clung to dear life, the conviction it was still too early for him; but the sweet call of oblivion was so appealing, so simple, the promise that if he had allowed himself to let go, the cold and pain would disappear. He had just to give up to sleep and it would be over.

The coldness had penetrated into his bones.

 

“I'd rather avoid,” Yuuri replied in a feeble voice, after a long silence. He had to cling to the desk to convince himself to be at sea anymore.

He didn’t feel ready to confront what had happened, no matter how good it would be to deal with the trauma before it could rot. For now, the less he thought about the waves dragging Minami away or the phone call Takeshi had made to his family and how it could be the last, the better.

“Still, I would like to make myself useful,” he offered. “I can read the nautical charts. And I have a good ear. And I know a bit of Morse. I know, it isn’t much.”

“It's more than what most people know,” Victor replied. “But you are my guest, you don’t have to feel obliged in any way. Not after what you have just been through.”

To Yuuri’s surprise Victor stood up, covered the distance between them, and took Yuri’s hands in his. Yuuri bowed his head to hide his embarrassment.

“Yuuri, I promise you I'll do anything to get you home as soon as possible and make your stay here bearable.”

Yuuri wanted to ask Victor why he had taken him to heart so much, why he was so helpful. He didn’t owe him anything. Yuuri was sure he didn’t deserve such a commitment. He freed his hands with a maybe too violent yank.

“Is there anything else?” He asked.

“No. Can you find the way to the controlroom? Take this to Gosha. He's the man at the sonar.” Yuuri took the message scribbled by Victor.

“It says you will help him as long as you stay with us.”

“Deal.”

3 OCTOBER - 9 OCTOBER

PACIFIC OCEAN

 

Yuuri liked working in the sonar room. Someone else could consider it a tedious and repetitive task, but after the recent stormy experience it was a balm. Georgi had been kind. He had shown Yuuri the most important buttons, specified the noises to which to pay more attention, and had invited Yuuri to turn to him for any doubts.

When Yuuri wasn’t at the sonar, he could be found in the kitchen, helping Yurio to peel potatoes or prepare meals for the entire crew.

The late evening, however, saw Yuuri busy with Victor sorting the immense amount of certificates and forms required by Moscow. Victor swore the paperwork replicated for parthenogenesis.

In those moments, which lasted until late night, Yuuri kept his eyes fixed on the sheets; a wrinkle formed in the middle of his forehead for the concentration of seeking a certain word or a specific symbol to distinguish one document from the other as Victor had taught him. His ears were filled with the rustle of turning pages or the pen scratching against the paper. Occasionally, when Yuuri was sure he would find Victor immersed in studying, he dared to lift his head and take a peek. He couldn’t deny he liked Victor and felt like blushing every time the other spoke to him or even just crossed his gaze.

Victor didn’t miss a chance to do at least one of those two things.

“Like this it's so much simpler,” he had exclaimed the first day Yuuri had helped him. “Oh, Yuuri, you are my salvation.”

Then, carried away by his enthusiasm, he had hugged him so tightly he had lifted him from the ground. For Yuuri, it was still a miracle his ears hadn’t burnt for the embarrassment. In any case he had asked Victor not to repeat the gesture, feeling almost guilty for the sad puppy face the other had made. From then on, Victor limited to touch Yuuri's fingers with his own, once, over a form to be filled. Yuuri had left running because it wasn’t so bad after all.

 

On Wednesday, they finished quite early, two hours earlier than usual. Yuuri collected the sheets still scattered on the table in an ordered package, as he did in the previous three days, but that time Victor asked him to wait.

“What's the matter?”

“Would you like to play chess?”

Yuuri furrowed his brows. “Chess?” He parroted. Perhaps he hadn’t understood well for his tiredness. Instead, Victor pulled a checkerboard out of a closet. It was a small chessboard, the pieces just sketched in two types of wood.

“I play with Yakov or Yurio. Even though Yurio has no strategy,” Victor explained, placing the pawns in their cells. Yuuri rubbed his chin. In truth, chess had never been in the top of his interests, and the prospect of an extra sleep was tempting. Yet Victor's eyes were so hopeful that in the end Yuuri didn’t have the heart to refuse.

“One,” he agreed, pointing to white pieces as his choice.

Victor defeated him in three moves. Yuuri then claimed revenge, late-night concern replaced by the desire for a payback. The second match was longer than the previous one, but ended with the King in Yuuri’s hands forced to surrender. During the third match, Yuuri managed to put Victor in trouble, once, more out of luck than for skill. At the fourth match, he began to understand Victor's game.

Yuuri won his first match a couple of days later; however, for his own admission, he wouldn’t have if Victor hadn’t been distracted. It was something Yuuri had discovered by chance, in a different context: he had removed his fringe from his forehead and had been surprised to find Victor staring, his mouth half-open. So he repeated the gesture during the game, as by chance, and his Tower checkmated Victor's King under his nose. Victor hadn’t take it out.

 

On the last day of Yuuri’s stay on Vydra, the young man awoke with a strange taste in his mouth; he felt a lingering aftertaste of spleen on the tongue, the kind of when he had a bad feeling. Or when, simply, something he feared was going to happen. It was his last day on Vydra and Yuuri wasn’t happy about it. However, he did his job with the professionalism he had shown for the whole week, pacified a brawl between two young sailors born out of a stupid joke, prepared two litres of borscht with Yurio, and finally, like every other night, knocked on the wardroom door where he was sure to find Victor.

However, he didn’t imagine finding the table usually packed with papers well set with all the necessary dishes for an elegant dinner for two.

 

“And that?” was Yuri's first comment when he saw how Victor had prepared the table. The man shrugged, his lips stretched in a sheepish smile. His eyes sparkled with pride.

“A farewell dinner for the guest,” he said, “if the guest agrees, of course.”

He pulled back one of the two chairs, accommodating Yuuri, who smiled embarrassed.

“I asked Yurio for help,” Victor informed him, uncapping a bottle of wine.

“It must have cost you a lot,” Yuuri joked. He had learnt in just a few days of what the young Cook’s assistant was made of.

“Worth it.”

Yuuri didn’t comment. He bowed his head to his red caviar dish.

In a few hours, Vydra’s crew would inflate a lifeboat, dump Yuuri on it, and from there it would be up to him to ride the remaining miles to the coast. The more he thought about it, the more he noticed the problems. He could decide to launch an SOS, but then he would have to explain why he was offshore on a rescue boat - Yuuri was hoping the inflatable boat would be the most anonymous possible. He also feared the news of _Eros_ ’s shipwreck had travelled to American coasts, leading the Coast Guard would link him to the fact, wondering again who had recovered Yuuri and released him once close enough to the mainland. In short, they would connect the dots, becoming suspicious of such secrecy, especially since Yuuri doubted to be able to sustain a made-up story if under pressure. He could play the “shock” card, maybe. Pretending the boat belonged to _Eros_? Without Minami and Takeshi having boarded it too? It could be a wonderful tearjerker story, if only Yuuri could tell it. But he couldn’t.

Instead, he couldn’t get the conviction he would endanger Victor and the Vydra in general out off his head, revealing her position, causing a diplomatic disaster.

“Yuuri.”

Victor's voice brought him back to reality. Yuuri realized he had put his hands on the edge of the table, leaving nail marks in the tablecloth. He grabbed his throat and it was hard to swallow. He mumbled something about having had a flash about having nearly drowned, before taking the glass of wine to his lips.

 

Or he could reach California’s shore alone, without launching any rescue signal. That provided being able to succeed in his intent without being driven out as a clandestine or rescued as a shipwreck, both possibilities that would lead him back to point A; Yuuri had no passport, left on _Eros_ , or any money. Part of him knew these were obstacles that could be overcome, as long as he could put his hands on a phone. The thought, however, could not prevent anxiety from clawing at his throat. The hand still clutching the glass was trembling slightly. He put it down and exchanged it for the fork.

“Something’s wrong?”

Yuuri dropped the fork onto the plate out of surprise.

“No, nothing,” he denied, moving food from side to side. “I'm just nervous for tomorrow,” he admitted under Victor’s doubtful stare. “But, I'm fine.”

He mustn’t have been convincing, since he found Victor bending over him, his hands resting on his shoulders and his face a centimetre from his own. Victor had the dangerous expression of a person who had just smelled a lie and was waiting to see how far the other is convinced he could push before being discovered.

Yuuri had already seen that expression once, just like he had seen the men in the controlroom hastening each to their own station with no hesitation.

“Yuuri?” Victor inquired, with raised eyebrows and a smile that didn’t extend to his eyes. Yuuri shrugged.

“Okay, I'm a bit concerned about tomorrow,” he confessed, glancing from side to side. In part, it was true and, as proof of the fact, his mind went through all the possible options and ways in which something could go wrong. Again. Perhaps he could have asked for help from Leo, a fisherman from New Mexico Yuuri had met during his apprenticeship period in America; but he had to admit he had no idea where his old friend might be at the moment.

“And?”

Victor was so close the tip of his nose was touching Yuuri's.

“You’re making my eyes cross,” Yuuri protested, a hint of headache about to bloom between his eyes. Victor pulled back immediately.

“I'm sorry. But I feel something is worrying you, and it's not just about the prospect of reaching American coasts in a raft.”

Yuuri just bowed his head in admission. The truth was a part of him wasn’t ready to go home yet; a considerable part of him. In the previous days, he had done his best not to think too much about _Eros_ ’s wreck; about Minami disappearing into the waves; about Takeshi's fate. The lack of news had fuelled his hopes more than his anxiety, to the point Yuuri now felt a pain in his stomach at the sole thought of having to face reality. If staying on Vydra meant that in the realm of possibilities Minami and Takeshi were still alive, Yuuri wasn’t ready to leave her. 

He didn’t doubt in Hasetsu they were all worried about him being dead and would celebrate his return; after all, it was the first year since five Yuuri would be home. At the same time, the shadow of his friends' death, of having to confront a now widowed Yuuko, paralyzed him. He tried to explain it to Victor in the clearest way he was capable of.

“Kulikov would say a wound should be treated as soon as possible,” Victor's commented when Yuuri had finished exposing his own concerns. “However, I am not Kulikov, and here we aren’t talking about a wound in suppuration. You've just experienced a trauma; it's normal you don’t feel ready to come to terms with the bad news that may be waiting for you.”

“What would you do?”

“By experience I know that the more time you let pass, the more difficult it’ll become to face the problem. But I also know you won’t digest your dinner if you think too much.”

The corners of Yuuri's mouth had a quirk upward despite all.

10 OCTOBER

23°43’30.042” N, 123°34’27.187” O

OFF CALIFORNIA COASTS

 

Whatever Yuuri’s final decision was the morning after, it had little importance. The Vydra raised to a periscopic level just a few miles from California’s coasts in the late evening, to have darkness’ protection, only to find the ocean in turmoil. A fierce wind smacked the face of the two sailors who were sent out to better examine the situation. Victor decided to wait, hoping the sea would subside, but in the next hour it began to rain. Cold drops wet the unlucky guy who put his head out the hatch. At the horizon, the first strike of lightning cleared across the sky for a fraction of a second. 

Putting Yuuri in such water, alone and on an unstable boat such as a rubber dinghy, would mean handing it back to the hands of the same Death he had escaped not even two weeks earlier. Victor was adamant. He ordered Vydra’s rapid re-immersion and kept the engines at a minimum. They would have landed Yuuri the next day, when the storm had calmed down. The storm was still roaring the morning after. Nor did the situation improve on the third day. There was a moment, just after noon, where the waves diminished in intensity almost to cease to be a threat; but to emerge so close to the United States in full light was declared too dangerous. By five in the afternoon, it was raining again.

Now, the main problem was the Vydra could not stay long in the same place. On the one hand it made it more vulnerable to being discovered; on the other, every stop was likely to lengthen the mission’s previewed duration. At the same time, the gathering of information wanted by Moscow actually obliged the Vydra to running around in circles. The Vydra would skirt the US coasts up to the southern Canadian border to return to Russia by mid-January, according to the first estimates.

Almost without Yuuri noticing it, another week passed. Victor tried to hide his pleasure for the outcome, but a person had to be blind to ignore the fact. Or with a serious self-esteem problem, like Yuuri.

The kiss, however, was harder to ignore.

 

Yuuri had just enough time to finish the sentence with which he declared his intention to stay on Vydra for the duration of the mission, standing at the door of the wardroom, when Victor cupped his cheeks and stamped a quick, enthusiastic kiss on his lips. Yuuri was sure to have jumped at least a metre from the ground. Little did it matter later Victor had apologised and justified himself, saying it was normal routine in Russia; Yuuri wasn’t able to cross his gaze for the next three days.

Luckily, life on a nuclear submarine left little time to dwell on anything. Working on the sonar absorbed all of Yuuri’s attention, now that they were in enemy waters; he and Victor often spent so many hours on papers and nautical charts or studying old lanes Yuuri eventually dragged into the bunk five minutes before the alarm clock sounded for those who had the day shift.

In any case, Yuuri had become accustomed to the routine on Vydra. Once established it would be his world for the next few months, he became determined not to be a nuisance to anyone who was hosting him for courtesy or necessity. Once he had overcome the initial claustrophobia and nostalgia for the sky, the rest followed.

At first there was some tension with the rest of the crew, due to language differences – of Russian, Yuuri knew only a couple of greetings and courtesy formulas and Soviet sailors didn’t speak English - and for his origins. Someone had also asked aloud if Yuuri was not a spy, proposing to throw him off at sea and be done with it. Or they could hold him hostage.

When Yurio came to know it, he threatened to poison the food of everyone who had had similar ideas.

There wasn’t need for it. Yuuri had let all insinuations about him slide and in a short time he conquered the crew's confidence with his helpfulness and kindness. Despite not showing it, he was older than many crew members and, after the initial mistrust, some of the younger men had begun to come to him to seek advice for one or another problem.

Strangely, the language barriers weren’t so high anymore.

 

 

24 OCTOBER

32°32’48.527” N, 131°7’58.124” O

OFF CALIFORNIA SHORES

 

“Submarine at 3 o'clock,” Yuuri said, turning to Victor. October was almost over. When Yuuri had worn his headphones thin ther morning, he had believed more than once to pick up a vague engine noise in the background. It was weak, so much Yuuri had often held his breath to minimize possible disturbances, and went and came, but it was there. In the last minutes it had increased in intensity, until it was detected by the sonar itself. Yuuri recalled Georgi's attention, snapping his fingers gesturing toward the sonar.

“Class?”

Yuuri reflected on the question. Every day Victor or Georgi instructed him on Soviet and American submarines, on their class, and how to recognize them. Yuuri learnt quickly. Certainly there was information Vydra’s officers would never reveal to him, although Victor had often let something slip; but what Yuuri had discovered was enough because now he looked at the ocean with different eyes.

“I didn’t imagine there were so many,” he exclaimed when Victor told him a possible number for how many Soviet submarines hid under the ocean waters.

“Los Angeles,” Yuuri said. “Too fast to be an Ohio.”

“Do you think she has identified us?”

“Yes,” Yuuri and Georgi responded in unison. “I wasn't sure before, but it has changed lane. She’s following us,” he added.

“Ok. Let's see if the past six months have meant something. Full speed ahead, heading 30 degrees South.”

The order was repeated to the intended recipients.

 

“I'm surprised Victor didn’t order the - how do Americans call it? ‘Crazy Ivan,’” Yurio commented at the first opportunity in the kitchen. Yuuri gave him a wondering look.

“Crazy Ivan?”

“Yeah. Don’t ask me why the name. It's a little bit bold, but not crazy,” Yurio continued. Yuuri nodded, not convinced. The young man's reckless level was ridiculously high. If one day he had a submarine in his hands, he would make Victor look cautious by comparison. In any case, Yuuri struggled to grasp the concept.

“God, you are dumb!” Yurio exclaimed after the third explanation, repeated with the same, identical words of the first two. He grabbed a ladle.

“Imagine this is the Vydra.”

“Ok.”

“And this is another submarine,” he continued, grabbing a carton of jelly.

Yuuri nodded, determined to understand the topic. Yurio put the ladle in front of the box, in a slightly offset position. “Now, this area,” he pointed at the imaginary ladle’s tail, “is blind zone. So every now and then our Captains make their submarines change direction. However, changing direction means assuming a transversal position with respect to the tracker,” Yurio turned the stack of ninety degrees.

“So if the tracker doesn’t stop in time.”

“It collides with the pursuit,” Yuuri concluded in his place.

He also had changed course. He had been forced to.

1 NOVEMBER

35°23’20.58” N, 126°38’7.023” O

OFF CALIFORNIA COASTS

“Check,” said Yuuri, while his Queen ate one of Victor's Bishops, who had so far protected his King and put the latter in serious trouble. He sagged against the chair’s back. The match had been intense.

“True,” Victor agreed with him examining the chessboard. “Checkmate,” he pointed out, moving one of the Horses and forcing again Yuuri’s King to yield.

“Don’t feel bad about it,” he told him as he put the pieces back into the box, “this time you got me in trouble. And without using too many tricks. “

Victor accompanied the last word with a wink that pushed Yuuri to find his nails interesting.

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” he replied, feigning indifference. A thing that proved to be quite difficult when Victor decided to embrace him from behind, leaning against him with pretty much his whole weight. Yuuri could hear Victor’s hair tickling his cheeks.

“Yuuri!” Victor called in a whiny voice, stretching the first part of the name.

In that moment, someone knocked on the door. Victor returned serious instantly.

“Come in,” he called. The door opened enough to allow Captain 3rd rank Illič to put his head inside.

“Captain, Medical Officer Kulikov has detected unusual levels of radioactivity,” he said.

Just from hearing the word, Yuuri stiffened. He looked at Victor and was surprised to notice he too was showing howed some body tension. When he dismissed Illič , he did it with a forcibly cold voice.

“Probably nothing to worry about. I'll go talk with Kulikov,” he reassured Yuuri, but couldn’t hide a flicker in his light irises. Yuuri recognized it immediately; fear.

Victor’s forehead was crossed by a deep wrinkle.

“Your revenge will have to wait,” he said, and was his way of dismissing Yuuri.

Returning to the bunks, Yuuri peered at the watch on his wrist. It was a loan from Kulikov, who knew knowing the time was the first step in preventing the madness caused by living too long in closed spaces. The hands signaled almost 0200, well before the time when Yuuri usually threw himself on the first bed available for those four, sometimes five, hours of daily sleep. As expected, he found the bunk he normally exchanged with a freckled guy, who started his turn at 0300, still occupied.

However, he had left enough space to allow Yuuri to lie down, which he actually did. Moreover, splitting the bunks did not represent a novelty on Vydra; or on a submarine in general.

Yuuri couldn’t sleep anyway, not with the constant thought of radiation. Of course, his anxiety about it wasn’t comparable to that of the first generation of post-Hiroshima; but it was strong enough to mingle the arts with thought. Yuuri felt his skin prickling, as if he had been stung by a jellyfish. And in fact, he had a big, gelatinous jellyfish pressed on his chest; iIt held him down with its urticating tentacles. In the fog of his half-sleep, Yuuri didn’t wonder how a jellyfish could enter a sealed waterproof submarine.

Abandoning any logic, he only experienced the terror of having such a creature just a few inches from his face. He had the impression of the jellyfish becoming bigger. With horror, he saw the animal growing more and more, a soft and stuffy blanket now pressing on his mouth, nose, and eyes. It was an empty vacuum drawing all the air from his lungs. Yuuri felt them bursting into flames. He felt fire biting every inch of skin; felt his lips and eyelids swell. They burnt so much he wouldn’t hesitate to tear them off for a bit of relief. He tried to pull the animal from his face in an impetus of desperation, but his fingers sank in the jelly, swallowed by it effortlessly. Then it was the turn of his hands, his arms. Yuuri was being bent in half, sucked in by that being.

 

He woke up screaming, drenched in sweat. Some half-sleeping sailors mumbled in the silence.

“Yurochka, why are you screaming?”a sailor named Boris, with whom Yuuri was on more or less on friendly terms, grunted.

“Nothing, just a nightmare. I did not want to wake you up. Go back to sleep.”

Yuuri twisted his torso. The bunks were empty and fluttered. His eyeglasses hung limply on his nose. Yuuri straightened them as he tried to focus on the room. He turned his torso to examine the spot where he was feeling pain, discovering a greenish-yellowish bruise. His agitating sleep had made him fall from the bed, hitting the hard steel floor where he laid until some pitiful man picked him back up. He pressed fists against eyes, remembering the main cause of his anguish. He dug nails into forearms to keep the sensation of being still wrapped in tentacles at bay.

Along the way to the sonar room, he wondered how the rest of the crew could be so quiet. Probably most of the sailors had not been informed of the situation so as not to cause unnecessary panic before they were due assessments. On the other hand, it seemed to him the air was lighter.

The motivation was soon clear when he reached the command bridge from which he had to pass to reach the sonar. For precaution, in fact, Victor had commanded to go back to periscope for an emergency air replacement. He had also decided to reduce the reactor activity to avoid possible overheating and to lean on auxiliary motors. This would have slowed down the Vydra and lost precious hours, but in similar cases the saying “better safe than sorry” was stronger than ever.

Fortunately, as was clear in the next forty-eight hours, the reactor had no damages apart from a tiny, easily repaired failure and the radiation levels had returned to normal safety levels.

“All right,” said Victor that night, but Yuuri noticed the dark circles under his eyes. Although, Victor did not let him see - damn if he was good at this - as far as it seemed easy, it would not be easy to find himself in his position at such a young age. Yuuri was by no means certain that he could keep his nerves under control.

 

20 NOVEMBER

34°31’28.781” N, 123°22’59.992”

OFF CALIFORNIA SHORES

 

Georgi whistled four times, a long sound followed by three shorter ones. Yuuri frowned as he thought about the correct answer. “B,” he finally decided. Georgi made a sound of approval.

As soon as he discovered Yuuri's knowledge of Morse was, at best, shaky - especially of sound-Morse - he decided it was essential to teach him. After all, Yuuri had a good ear, he would learn quickly.

Two long sounds, one short.

“W. No, wait, that is short, long, long. G.”

It had been helpful for Yuuri to have a vague background in visual Morse, enough to understand lighthouse signalations when he passed by while fishing. He was much more well versed in nautical flags, however.

It was one of the things he missed most of being above the sea surface, the courteous communication between ships.

He tapped absent-mindedly on the sonar console, careful not to move any buttons. Three short sounds. Three long. Again three shorts. “The famous S-O-S.” Not surprisingly, it was decided to use the simplest combination of letters for the code to require help.

“Everybody knows it. I suppose it's crucial to know it in your job as well as ours,” Georgi said aloud.

The _Eros_ should have launched an SOS, but Yuuri had been thrown off board before he could find out if the Captain had sent the signal or not. That trivial sequence of sounds could represent the difference between salvation and defeat. Timing then became everything.

Perhaps if the SOS had been sent at the beginning at the storm, the _Eros_ wouldn’t have been in so much trouble and Yuuri wouldn’t have ended up in the sea.

Neither would he have met Victor. He would’ve come home for the winter without the slightest idea of the existence of someone who was now becoming so important.

“You're thinking about Vitya, aren’t you?”

Yuuri jumped in the chair out of surprise. He shook his head, bowing it in apology for his distraction.

“Yuuri,” insisted Georgi, who had a passion for love stories, better if tragic. Yurio told Yuuri how Georgi had had a relationship with a beautiful Lieutenant from Archangel and that he had asked to transferred on Vydra in the hope of forgetting a bad break up

“Is that so obvious?” He admitted.

“A heart in love recognizes its kind,” was Georgi's simple explanation. Yuuri decided to take advantage of the situation to try to figure out what kind of person Victor was; Georgi knew him much better than he did. He couldn’t rely only on Yurio's opinion.

“He's a good guy,” Georgi replied after a long pause, enough for Yuuri to wonder if he hadn’t used that time to convince himself of his own affirmation.

“But he doesn't like routine,” he warned, carding fingers through his hair. “Yakov had to insist on respecting the protocol. He’s much calmer now you're here.”

“And is it a good thing?”

“Good for us. Good for Yakov. Good for Moscow. Good for you. Trust me, he would’ve already got tired if he didn’t care about you.”

Yuuri didn’t comment further, bringing the conversation back to studying Morse. Short. Long. Short. It was a great diversion to avoid reflecting on what Victor meant for him or the other way round.

 

When Victor came to know about Yuuri's progress, he was delighted. He hugged him on a whim, his mouth almost touching Yuuri’s. Since Yuuri had become so good with Morse, Victor decided he must knock in code; this way, Yuuri could identify it was him and not someone else. His Yuuri, as Victor had started to call him sometimes, and not the usual nuisances.

“And what code?” Yuuri ended up encouraging him..

“Your initials, Yuuri” Victor chirped.

A long shot. A short one. Two other longs.

 

Yuuri could not deny he appreciated the attention he received, having something exclusive with Victor. Having something exclusive with someone. Proximity with Victor did not make him uncomfortable at first, not even remotely. Almost the opposite.

When Victor touched his lips in a simple, brushing kiss, he blushed but didn’t retreat. It was late November, he would soon be twenty-four.

Gosha said Victor had the habit of getting bored easily. Yuuri wanted to know how fast.

“A month. Sometimes two.”

Two months, the time Yuuri had spent on Vydra. It was as if there was an invisible clock counting his time; his time in the limbo that was the Vydra; his time with Victor. He prayed he wouldn’t finish too soon.

 

20 DECEMBER

39°38’22.335” E, 130°57’25.312”O

OFF CALIFORNIA SHORES

 

 

Victor was making an announcement. Most likely the mission would end by early January. With a bit of luck, Vydra would be back to Russia just in time to celebrate Christmas according to the Orthodox calendar.

The crew exploded into a roar of approval. From there, to organize a clandestine party to celebrate the step was shot. And by “clandestine, it meant Victor and other officers were well aware of it. Some of them even attended. Others simply turned a blind eye on it.

 

The morning after, Yuuri woke up with a tremendous headache, cottonmouth, and terrible nausea. All the food ingested from his first cry to that moment threatened to leave his stomach as soon as he tried to stand. He grunted and buried his head between his legs. He could still hear Leo's voice and his remedies against seasickness. Or against hangovers. Alcohol always played a major role.

Groaning, Yuuri leaned forward on the bed, burying his head into the pillow. He turned his face to the side and -

Goddammit, he was in the Captain's cabin. The image of him clinging to Victor like an octopus and of Victor keeping his hands under the hollow of his knees crossed Yuuri’s mind. He groaned again. It was a disaster, a complete disaster.

He sat up, anxiety-due nausea about to replace hangover-nausea. Yuuri dropped his gaze. He sighed with relief in seeing he was still half-dressed. The shirt was over the desk, but his pants were still on.

 

Dressing – three times he attempted to put both arms in the hole meant for his head – Yuuri tried to remember what had happened the night before. It was all a confusing, multi-coloured blur.

He remembered with some certainty that at a point, soon enough, alcohol had begun to go around. He had drunk a pair of glasses in a rapid row to melt his nerves. The glasses had then become four and then six. In the background, the rest of the crew urged to the sound of "boleye," _again_!

Yuuri had divested of his shirt after the tenth glass. He might have danced with Yurio, but he wouldn’t bet his life on it. On the other hand, the first clear image after a big black hole showed him in Victor's arms.

Yuuri grunted for the umpteenth time and hid his face in his hands.

For once he was glad the Vydra wasn’t affected by waves’ motion, for it was certain that even the slightest roll would make him vomit once he set foot outside the cabin.

"Finally," Yurio welcomed him, his eyebrows turned down in anger. Yuuri wondered how the boy was always around whenever he was in trouble.

"Did Victor send you?" Yuuri inquired. Yurio made a sound that could be interpreted as a groan or as a threat.

"What do you think? I’ve been checking on you since six in the morning. Do you have any idea how much time you made me lose? Anyway, I hope you like to clean vomit. No, don’t make that face. Yesterday's party was a mess and the dining room is still disgusting."

Yurio pretended to throw up in an imaginary paper basket, turning his eyes as if he could not believe humankind stupidity. Yuuri was, however, quite sure Yurio didn’t stand on the side while others had their good sweet time.

"Am I wrong, or did you enjoy the party too," he teased. Yurio snorted, crossing arms over his chest. "If you call having fun being humiliated. Now go, your face makes me seasick. And I don’t get seasick!"

 

Yurio hadn’t exaggerated: the canteen was in terrible condition, the product of what happens when a big group of healthy young men drink a bit too much. The tables were greasy and sticky with alcohol, sugar, and fat. One of the benches had been overturned and now lay flat on the floor covered with walnut shells. They creaked under Yuuri's shoes’ soles. The stale air of the room filled him with a mixed smell of vodka and sweat. He was thankful,for once, for having almost lost his sense of smell after years spent cleaning tuna. Besides employing his energies, cleaning prevented him from dwelling too much on the previous night and the void left in his memory.

 

"Victor, what happened yesterday?" Yuuri asked the same evening.

"You drank a bit too much and gave a show. Nothing serious," Victor replied, sugaring his tea without diverting his eyes from the sheet he was reading. At the fifth sugar cube dropped into the cup, Yuuri began to doubt Victor was paying any attention to what he was doing.

"And between us?" He insisted. It was rare Victor didn’t look him in the eyes when they were talking. The fact that Victor wasn’t now, worried him.

"Between us?"

"How far did we?" He took a deep breath - "did we go?"

Finally, Victor shifted his attention from the page under his nose to the man before him. "Yuuri," he began with a serious voice, "do you think I would do anything with you without us being both sober?"

Yuuri relaxed his shoulders.

"We just kissed."

Yuuri stiffened. Victor had diverted his eyes again. He was writing something.

“And I sucked you once.”

"What?" Yuuri screamed. His indignation echoed between Vydra’s iron walls.

Victor chuckled. "I was joking. Just kidding. I just left you a love bite. "

The information didn’t console Yuuri in the slightest. He dropped his gaze to his chest. Yes, no doubt, from under the hem of his uniform collar an oval-shaped spot peered. Yuuri moaned.

“I'll never drink alcohol again in my life."

"How many times have you made this promise?"

"One" - Victor cocked an eyebrow. He leaned so much on the table Yuuri wondered if he wanted to be sucked in by the wood - "Okay, two."

In truth, he should have never gone beyond zero. As a boy he had seen the effect alcohol had on his father. Not that it made him violent, quite the opposite. it made him celebrate as if there was no tomorrow. Few glasses of sake were enough for Toshiya Katsuki to go “yolo.”

 

Victor, who would normally press Yuuri for more details, just smiled. The silence was broken only by the fountain pen scratching against the paper.

"Do you need some help with that document?" Yuuri asked. It was obvious wouldn’t obtain any more information about the past night any time soon.

"Yes, it would be great."

When a couple of hours later Victor dismissed him in a formal and alien way, Yuuri stood for a moment at the door. He waited for the offer of a chess match or a goodnight kiss Victor had taken the habit of giving him; but it was soon clear he would receive neither one nor the other that day.

 

Nor the day after.

Nor the day after that.

 

The more time passed, the more Yuuri was convinced he had done or said something that offended Victor, something he could barely remember. He questioned the other crew members, the ones with whom he was more in confidence, but they too soon proved to be of little use. Yes, he had danced with Victor and he had behaved like a jealous man, ordering Victor to look at him and only him. However, they hadn’t any idea of what had happened after he and Victor had left, tripping over their own feet.

 

They suggested asking Yurio, but the second attempt didn’t prove to be more profitable than the previous one.

"Ugh, I don’t want to talk about this," the Cook’s assistant muttered, sticking the knife he was holding in the chopping board to emphasize his words. Yuuri didn’t insist further. Not after Yurio almost cut his fingers.

On the other hand, Yuuri would’ve never imagined to find himself regretting Victor’s expansiveness, something he had considered to be excessive more than once. It wasn’t just the sudden absence of any physical contact. Victor barely looked at him now. If he was forced, he did it in an impersonal way. Already a couple of times, Yuuri had to choke back tears to the bottom of his throat.

 

Anxiety threatened to send Yuuri to pieces every time Victor ignored his attempts to make a conversation or even a simple greeting. It seemed the Vitya Yuuri had learnt to love, had been replaced by an alien, a stranger who answered to the name of Victor Nikiforov and with whom Yuuri didn’t want to have anything.

 

However, if there was one thing anxiety taught him, it was that half the problems can be solved with some good communication. So, after a week like this, Yuuri took a good deep breath and asked; "Victor, are you angry at me? I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. "

_And then I forgot everything._

Victor didn’t even make any sign he had heard. He still had his eyes fixed on the usual stack of papers, but Yuuri could see he wasn’t reading them. Victor was pretending to avoid him. His eyes were vacuous and the pencil was underlining the same line for the tenth time.

He bit his lips, swallowing to pick up the courage he needed.

"Really, it wasn’t my intention," He continued with tears already pricking at the corners of his eyes. At first he had been too confused to understand it, too shocked by the wreck, but Victor was the best thing that ever happened to him. For the first time, Yuuri felt he could rely on someone without it turning against him. He hadn’t yet decided if what he felt was love or something different and even deeper. Certainly, it wasn’t the affection he would have for a friend or a brother.

"It’s not your fault."

 

When Victor crossed his gaze, he seemed so vulnerable it frightened Yuri. It was like ten years had fallen on him. Victor played with a cuff.

"When you asked me how far we went, I wasn’t honest."

Victor pronounced those words slowly, as if each one was a well-anchored weight to his tongue. For once, it was up to Yuuri to face the situation.

“Did we have sex?” he asked, cutting to the chase. Victor shook his head.

“No, god, no. I mean, it’s not like I don’t want to have sex with you-" his voice dropped to little more than a whisper - “but I would never take advantage of a drunk person. Especially if it's you.”

“What's the problem, then?” Yuuri pressed, stretching a hand over the table without having the courage to fill the gap between their fingers.

“I've been this close to not respecting my principles.”

Victor formed a ring with his thumb and index finger, leaving an imperceptible space between the two fingertips.

“But you haven’t done it,” Yuuri said, nervousness not yet replaced by relief.

“No. I assure you.”

Yuuri slumped in the chair, as if the tension that had pressed on his stomach had been the only thing to support him up to now. Even Victor seemed to sag, fragile as Yuuri had never seen him. He fell on his knees in front of him and took his hands between his own.

"Believe me, I'm not that kind of person," he said. He put his head on Yuuri’s legs, who couldn’t resist the temptation to press his index finger on the man’s crown: he knew how much Victor hated this.

"You're cruel!" Victor protested, turning his face to one side to remove the top of his head from further aggravation. Yuuri melted into a slight shake.

"The right punishment for how you made me feel. I thought you were angry with me. "

But there wasn’t harshness in his voice. His fingers gently carded through Victor's hair, putting his long fringe behind his right ear.

“I was angry with myself for how I behaved,” Victor stared at him, “can you forgive me?"

"Of course."

Victor brought Yuuri's hands to his lips and kissed the knuckles. Yuuri swallowed. The picture was more erotic than it should have been. Having Victor at his feet sent chills through his whole back.

"On one condition," he added.

"Whatever you want."

Yuuri put his finger under Victor's chin, forcing him to raise his head.

“Kiss me. Let's start again from where we stopped. And this time make sure I’ll remember it.”

 

It was the push Victor needed. His eyes darkened, the usual blue replaced by an indigo one, the colour of stormy sea. His pupils expanded to occupy almost the whole iris. He stood up.

Despite the clear desire on his face, however, Victor didn’t hurry things; the shame for the previous time was still vivid in his mind. He leaned over Yuuri, cupping his cheeks. He tilted Yuuri’s head to the side, just enough so that their noses didn’t crash. Yuuri grabbed Victor’s nape, drawing him to himself to fill the distance between them.

Victor grabbed Yuuri by the hips, lifted him up and placed him on the table, positioning himself between his thighs.

"Trust me. I'll make sure you remember every second," he purred, his voice heavy. Yuuri felt the vibrations of Victor’s lips against his throat. Victor took a bit of flesh in his teeth.

"Mm," Yuuri murmured in appreciation.

He hooked his legs around Victor’s waist. Victor moved a few sheets with his arm without even looking. The table surface was hard against Yuuri’s back, but the only thing he could think of was the heat of Victor's mouth on his neck.

"Victor. They will all see it," he protested, trying to look more concerned than he was. Victor ignored him.

"Let them see," he panted, pushing his hips against Yuuri’s.

"Victor!"

With a sigh, the man abandoned what he was doing. He repositioned himself to have his face on Yuuri’s lower abdomen. He rolled Yuuri’s shirt over his hips, burying his face in his belly.

"Better?" Victor asked, sucking the skin over the protruding bone of Yuuri’s pelvis. Yuuri mumbled something in response. For Victor it was enough, as on Yuuri's side a purple spot blossomed. He passed his finger over it, visibly satisfied for his work. Yuuri shivered at the touch. 

He arched his back, feeling Victor's cock brushing against his own through the underwear. Victor moved to suck a twin mark on the other side.

"Yuuri. My Yuuri, he crooned later, his teeth against Yuuri’s clavicle almost where the uniform collar would was. Victor grabbed his wrist so hard it would leave a bruise. In response, Yuuri sank his nails into Victor’s shoulder blades over the shirt's cotton. He didn’t care.

Let them see.

 

The day after, Yuuri would like to slap his past self from the previous night. The purple edge of the hickie shining from beneath the cloth seemed to him as big as a boat; a ship; the Vydra! He tried to adjust his shirt to cover it as much as possible, but one part was always visible.

Yurio would kill him.

Yuuri was so sure about this that when the Cook’s assistant behaved as usual, he was almost tempted to bring up the subject to receive the shovel talk he needed.

He received one before his own anxiety came to compensate. From Vydra Official Captain, no less.

"Katsuki, may I have a word?" He stopped him in the corridor, on the way to the wardroom.

"Of course."

Not that he had any other choice.

Yakov Feltsman didn’t beat around the bush.

"You should be more careful. I don’t know how things are in your country, but Soviet Union is not kind with-”

He stopped, as if a word was stuck in his throat. Yuuri was about to answer for him.

"People like Vitya," Yakov concluded without giving him time. "God knows I tried to talk him out of it," he continued, pointing out that Victor would have a life three times simpler if he had learnt to listen more; meaning, if he had learnt to listen to him.

“Instead, he must always fixate on something capable of destroying his life and career.”

Yuuri listened in silence. Moreover when he was about to answer, Yakov stopped him. The old Captain had his jaw tense and his hands contracted. It seemed Victor caused him more than a ulcer.

 

"Sir, I assure you such a reckless behaviour won’t be repeated,” was what Yuuri said in the end, once put before the facts. He had a feeling Yakov wasn’t just referring to what happened the night before; but also the show during the party.

Yakov nodded, satisfied. He didn’t smile, but Yuuri felt a bit less uneasy.

"Victor is like a son for me. I didn’t want to admit it, but since you came here he’s happy as I haven’t seen in years," Yakov continued, rubbing his cap in his bare hands. The voice was rough due to a cough that hadn’t abandoned him since the pneumonia he suffered in September. He pulled out a handkerchief from his pants pocket and spat a lump of phlegm.

"Damn it. Kulikov says I would benefit from some Southern seas. Wish I could,” He mumbled, before leaving, repeating his advice. He walked away with heavy steps.

 

Yakov wasn’t the only one who gave Yuuri a shovel talk. Kulikov also did, throwing himself in a rant about all the risks coming from unprotected sex; in the end Yuuri almost voted himself to chastity. Or maybe he could have only oral sex for the rest of his life. He grabbed Kulikov by the shoulder. There was a new sense of worry in his throat. He had a deep respect for the doctor and he had a debt of gratitude to him – Yuuri owed him his own life – but once Yurio had told him to trust nobody.

"You and Yakov are the only ones who know. Tell me you won’t betray us. That you won’t betray Victor."

Kulikov turned around. The indignation on his face wasn’t something you could feign. His tone remained calm, but Yuuri could feel the hidden anger in it.

"It would betray my oath," he replied with a cold voice. "It would betray a comrade," he continued, voice strong on that term, so important in Soviet Russia.

"And it would betray a friend. Do you think I didn’t know it already? That I didn’t see the way Vitya looked at you when he brought you to me? He didn’t want to leave you. I had to force him. I thought, I feared, that he would have a broken heart from this. As you may have noticed, he isn’t a genius when it comes to relationships.”

Yuuri smiled his approval.

"But my doubts were unfounded. For how long it lasts."

"What do you mean?"

"You will leave us soon, right? You should prepare Vitya to the idea. Don’t be deceived, he’s more fragile than what he gives away.”

 

Kulikov's advice was wise, and Yuuri would have liked to think about it; but then Victor was kissing him with fingers sunk in his thighs and Yuuri forgot everything.

For a week, Yuuri had the impression of living in a dream. It was an overwhelming fantasy that made him feel sparks under his skin. It was like being under the influence of some drug, a cocktail of dopamine and endorphins, lack of maybe excess of oxygen. It was amazing.

As long as it lasted.

To awake from those days of naïve bliss was such a cold shower Yuuri stood paralyzed on the edge of his bunk until another sailor made him flinch with a pat on his shoulder. Kulikov's words came back to him full force. Anxiety wrapped him in a sticky hug.

 

26 DECEMBER

43°19’30.64” N, 128°40’18.75” O

OFF OREGON SHORES

Yuuri was staring at the sonar without actually seeing it. There were a couple of points pulsing in the top left, but they had been in place for hours and according to Georgi they weren’t a source of concern.

Victor leaned on Yuuri with the clear intention of hooking his arms around Yuuri’s neck. The gesture, over the past days, had become normal for both Yuuri and other officers who may be present. This time, however, Yuuri jerked away from the gesture. His body moved before his brain had even sent the command.

Yuuri had woken up with anxiety waiting for him at the foot of the bunk that morning; since then it hadn’t abandoned his side for even a second, like an annoying and faithful dog.

Yuuri removed his headphones and half-turned the chair. Victor had a wrinkle over his nose and a wounded expression that made it all the more difficult. The day before it was twenty-two and Yuuri had barely greeted him. They had spent their time together confronting a pair of nautical charts instead of spending those hours in a better manner, as Yuuri didn’t doubt Victor would hope.

"What is it, Yuuri?" Victor asked with a sincerely worried voice.

Yuuri snorted. He bit his lower lip to stop it from shaking.

"How can you be so calm?"

Victor widened his eyes, confusion readily appearing in them.

"Do you mean how can I be comfortable on a nuclear submarine in the middle of the ocean?” “Yuuri, I assure you have nothing to worry about. The November incident was nothing serious, in the end."

Yuuri shook his head. It hurt just like his chest did.

"No, that's not it."

"Do you have homesickness? Yuuri, I know it's tough, but- "

Yuuri interrupted Victor before he could finish the sentence.

"No." He blinked, awareness of not being alone blocking the voice in his throat. Staying so close to Victor made him feel as if he was choking.

"I," Yuuri sighed, "I don’t feel very good. If you would excuse me," he said, standing and passing by the other. He kept his head low to avoid looking at Victor’s gaze and hiding his tear-filled eyes. Victor didn’t stop him.

 

 

Yuuri burst into tears as soon as he stepped in the aisle.

 

For the first time after months, Yuuri didn’t spend the night in Victor’s company, retreating into the sleeping area as soon as possible. The change of routine, however, provided little relief to his distressed mind. Once source of embarrassment, Victor's proximity recently had become a habit and its absence made Yuuri feel like someone had opened a sinkhole in his stomach. He was crying on the pillow before he even realized it. Just a few months, this much was enough for the thought of losing Victor, for the idea of parting ways once he arrived in Vilyuchinsk base, to become unbearable.

 

It was better like this, Yuuri reflected, as he curled on one side. His heart ached so badly he wished he could rip it bare handed from his chest and throw it into the depths of the sea.

 

On the third day spent in reducing his contacts with Victor to a minimum, Yuuri had to admit the idea of saying goodbye hadn’t become more bearable at all. Quite the opposite. As a collateral effect of the guilt Yuuri was feeling, the natural consequence of his behaviour, his nights were cursed by an insomnia so strong not even fatigue could defeat it. He stared at the bed grate above his bunk, the mattress bent just a bit from the weight of the body sleeping on it. Four days before Vydra docked at Vilyuchinsk; four days Yuuri could have spent with Victor, immersing himself in every moment if he hadn’t been so busy bracing himself to deal with farewells.

That was the real problem.

Luckily on the evening of the sixth day - the countdown went on mercilessly, with Vydra launched at full-speed – Victor took the matter in his hands.

With the Vydra now far offshore the Siberian coasts, already visible with powerful binos and a good sight, Victor blocked Yuuri on his way to the bunks.

"Let's go talk," he said, before putting a pile of heavy clothes in Yuuri’s arms. "In the control room in ten minutes. We’ll go out."

The Vydra had, in fact, surfaced for a change of air, following Kulikov's advice.

 

Yuuri was sure if he didn’t show up, Victor would come to take him personally. Just like he was sure if he had worn all the garments he'd got from Victor, he could reach the controlroom only by rolling. He hadn’t even put the coat on, and he was already feeling bundled up worse than the mascot from a certain French tire company.

"Is it necessary?" Yuuri asked Victor when once again in his presence. He was already sweating copiously in his heavy clothes and the undershirt itched.

"You're not used to our winter," was the answer, in a tone that didn’t accept a reply. The order was accompanied by a wool scarf Victor wrapped around Yuuri's neck, covering his nose and mouth and leaving the eyes exposed.

"I can stand the cold," Yuuri protested, his voice suffocated by the wool. It had a stale smell.

"What you call cold isn’t even near the temperature out there. You've never been so far north in winter. Or do I remember wrong?" Victor insisted, putting on a pair of gloves.

"No," Yuuri admitted.

He had never seen the thermometer drop below the – 5 °C. He kept this thing, however, to himself. In a flicker of pride, he didn’t want to give Victor another point on his already solid argument.

"See." Victor said, putting a ushanka on Yuuri’s head as final touch.

Yuuri felt dazed for the heat.

 

The discomfort disappeared as soon as he put his head out of the hatch, in the cold Siberian night. The heat turned into a pleasant warmth. The feeling of awkwardness changed into a sense of security, like being wrapped in a cozy cocoon. Victor stretched out his hand to help him and once outside he supported him so that Yuuri wouldn’t lose his balance. It was so cold that Vydra’s emerged part was covered in a thin and insidious layer of ice.

Victor sat cautiously. Yuuri imitated him. Snow flurries flew about in the air. Some flakes remained trapped in Yuuri’s lashes. The moon was veiled by a soft mist. The light was just enough to allow Yuuri to see Victor’s profile.

 

“That's the Big Dipper.”

Victor lifted his free arm to indicate the constellation shining bright despite the fog. "It's one of the few I remember,” he added. “Knowing the stars isn’t exactly a priority when you live most of the time underwater.”

Yuuri had learnt to distinguish constellations since he was twelve. It had been one of the things he missed while on Vydra. He had even felt a sense of loss when put before the reality of having to rely on a computer to navigate in the darkness of the sea abyss.

"When," Yuuri swallowed, "when a storm is approaching, you do your best to prepare yourself, so that you can to reduce the damage as much as possible. I wanted to get used to being without you."

"I was afraid I had hurt you," Victor whispered.

"Really?" Yuuri exclaimed, holding a hand around the other’s arm to not slip. The shadow of the freezing black waters a few feet from below him was way too real to lower his guard. Victor's lips quirked upwards.

"Are you surprised?"

"I'm surprised you feared something in general," Yuuri confessed. Not once while on Vydra had he seen Victor in trouble. Not once had Victor shown hesitation or fear. It was like he was born for that. Indeed, the only time Victor had shown uneasiness was when he had confessed they almost had sex.

"Oh, Yuuri," Victor burst into a weak laugh. "You have no idea how scared I am. An error, a malfunction, and this beast would blast into pieces. I couldn’t do anything. And if it happens, I hope for a quick death, because I cannot even imagine the alternative. I'm scared I have no future besides this,” he made a vague gesture, “like there’s an invisible wall against which I am destined to fight. I'm scared of how my life will be back without you at my side. This year I've been on land for ten days. I counted them. And I saw the sun for five. Don’t get me wrong, I like what I do. But fear is something always accompanying me. 

Living is what scares me.”

Yuuri stretched his gloved hand to Victor's face without a second thought. He withdrew it right away however, lowering his eyes. A shy blush appeared along his nose bridge. He intertwined his fingers with the other, just above Vydra’s frozen metallic surface. The contact between Yuuri and Victor was minimal, due to all the layers they were wrapped in; but Yuuri could swear he was feeling Victor's warmth as if they were skin against skin.

"Why? Why did you choose me?” he asked, looking toward the horizon. "What did you see in me?"

"Would you prefer if I had left you to drown?”

"No. But ..."

"Your strength. It was your strength to attract me."

Yuuri made a questioning sound with his lips, asking a question Victor hastened to answer. "According to Kulikov, you spent almost two days at sea. He must have told you. A man normally lasts a maximum of ten minutes. You should’ve died and you're still here."

Yuuri murmured something, non-committedly. Victor interpreted it as an invitation to continue. "You don’t notice it, but where you go, you bring happiness. You have a gift, people like you.”

"Just as they like you," Yuuri replied.

"People are fascinated by me, nothing more. People like you. The crew loves you. If they could, they would keep you like as a mascot. It's like having the sky, like having the sun.”

After a similar confession, Yuuri remained silent for a long time. It seemed to him like a lifetime, but didn’t last more than a few minutes. Just like Victor had said, not only hadn’t Yuuri noticed the effect he had on others, but he didn’t even believe it. Of course, thinking back to the past months, he could almost see how naturally he could fit into an environment, almost without realizing it. Some sailors opened up to him. Others considered him as a reference point. They all treated him just like they would do with a friend.

"I wish we had more time," he sighed, placing his head on Victor's shoulder.

"It could have been worse."

"It’s not enough."

"I know."

In saying this, Victor stripped off his gloves. His hands was lukewarm against Yuuri's cheek, warmer than the cold air biting his naked skin when Victor lowered his scarf to uncover his mouth. And then Victor's lips were on his.

There were kisses before, and deep inside Yuuri hoped there would be again in the future; but none like that. It destroyed doubts and created fertile ground for new ones. Something moved in Yuuri's chest, an imperceptible movement that shook him from head to toe. He pressed his face against Victor's chest, while his pain finally found a catharsis.

 

8 JANUARY,

51° 58’ 25.982” N, 160° 22’ 43.154”E

VILYUCHINSK SUBMARINE BASE

Yuuri's first impression of Vilyuchinsk's base was intense. The machines’ thunder was deafening, the frantic activity organized with millimetric precision, and above all everything was huge. Yuuri had a rough idea of Vydra size, but the sensation perceived by living on it wasn’t at all consistent with the view from the outside. He also discovered the submarine wasn’t even the largest in the Pacific Fleet

Suddenly, the ocean looked even less secure than what it had ever been.

The temperature had dropped to – 20 °C. The coasts and the sea around the base were covered in a thick layer of ice, from which the rounded top of some submarine that got stuck, protruded. Snow that wouldn’t melt until late spring whitened the low hills around the bay. The one that decorated the peaks of the mountains on the horizon would, however, remain there also in the summer.

Vilyuchinsk was located far east of the Soviet territory, on the eastern side of the Kamchatka Peninsula, placed in the bay of Avacha. Victor had told Yuuri in May the area lit up with the trees’ bright green and the deep blue of the ocean in spring. The houses of the fishermen and the families of those who worked at the base, turned back to life with a big party at the Maslenitsa, at the end of the long winter.

"It's a shame to always be away during that time."

 

For the time being, however, Vilyuchinsk was the apotheosis of Siberian cold. Despite being wrapped in twice the layers everyone else had, Yuuri continued to rattle his teeth without control. He welcomed every source of warmth with the same joy as a kitty basking in the sun. In addition, the time spent with Victor had reduced abruptly from the instant Vydra had docked. Not even the time to set foot on the ground, a group of seventy-one-year-old men had picked Victor with courteous manners, but not accepting a refusal. Since then, Yuuri had talked to his lover once, en passant in the canteen, and he was seriously going through withdrawal. That was why, when five days after the crew had landed, Victor knocked on the door of the room where Yuuri was, Yuuri had to use a good deal of self-control so he wouldn’t immediately push the other against the first available surface.

"Are there any problems?" He asked instead, ignoring the voice in his head reminding him he should better get used to a life without Victor, since that was waiting for him.

Victor sat on the edge of the mattress. He kept his head ducked, but Yuuri could see how he didn’t seem worried or sad; quite the opposite.

"Yakov sent a letter to Admiral Maslov in which he praises my work on Vydra and advances the proposal they entrust me the command officially. There are still some doubts in Moscow, but Maslov's first response seems to be positive.” 

Vladimir Petrovich Maslov was the Commander in chief of the Pacific Fleet, the head. If Victor managed to give him a good impression and get into his good graces, this could be the beginning of a brilliant career.

There was the reason for those admirals and other senior officers’ interest, Victor explained. Yuuri didn’t doubt that they had put him through long, thorough, and exhausting talks. In comparison, his needs were nothing more than a childish tantrum.

"It's great," Yuuri said when Victor asked him what he was thinking. In Yuuri’s voice, there wasn’t even half the enthusiasm he was supposed to show.

The little smile from before fell from Victor's lips. Yuuri looked away.

His guilt made his stomach twist. He should have been happy for Victor. He should have joined him in celebrating the good news. He should have exulted. Instead, the only thing he could think of was how unfair the Universe was for having crossed their lanes for a too short time. 

 

He didn’t notice he was weeping until he felt the damp on his cheeks. Victor took his face in his hands, facing him.

"What is it, Yuuri?" He asked, wiping his tears with the pad of his thumb. Yuuri sniffed. He felt so weak and silly and unreasonable. He could face the matter like an adult, trying not to ruin the months spent together with a scene. Instead, he was acting like a spoiled brat.

"I don’t want it to end," he whispered, in between tears.

The following pause was so long Yuuri had time to convince himself Victor would abandon him without a second thought, once he realized what kind of person he was. He braced himself for a talk about selfishness. He also doubted his feelings had ever been truly reciprocated. Perhaps for Victor this was just a pleasant diversion, nothing more.

His throat had already begun to close around a paranoia-caused lump, when Victor finally talked to him. The outcome wasn’t something Yuuri could ever foresee.

"Yuuri, tomorrow I want to bring you to a place."

Yuuri had just the strength to nod. He blew his nose in the handkerchief Victor was so kind to give him.

“Alright."

 

9 JANUARY

49°33’13.412” N, 154°18’50.273” E

KURIL ISLANDS

The place turned out to be an island of rock and grass, so small the Vydra would almost not fit in there. The island was a comma in the sea. The northern tip, polished by millennia of waves, rose to a sand dune descending gently toward the ocean. The southern cusp, on the contrary, was rocky, made of rugged rocks in whose cavities crabs and other small blind and pale crustaceans crawled. In the west, in the island bay, a light grey beach without a tiny footsteps was the only easy access. Not a bush grew on the island and the only vegetation present was damp mosses and scrub grasses. Finally, a cliff overlooking the sea protected the bay from Eastern winds.

The only sign of life was a lighthouse perched on the northern promontory, in good condition all in all, but clearly abandoned.

"Where are we?" Yuuri asked, when Victor helped him get off the boat. Their boots sank in the wet sand. A wind was blowing from the west. “It's not on the maps, is it?”

"Not really," Victor said, as he as he tied off the line to the cleat.

He had woken Yuuri up when the moon was still high in the sky. He had then helped him dress in all of the necessary layers to survive at those latitudes, because Yuuri threatened to fall asleep the moment he closed his eyes. He was a night owl, but waking up in the middle of the night was a totally different matter. So he had been manoeuvred by Victor, grateful for the thick darkness when he found himself on a medium sized boat. It was the first time since _Eros._

He didn’t ask any questions, more worried about fighting the wave of panic born in his stomach the instant when the mild waves roll arrived to his feet. A voice in his head told him to disembark, to flee. His brain came up with memories from the shipwreck, something Yuuri hadn’t wanted to face for months. At least, with the darkness, he couldn't see the boat and convince himself to be somewhere else. He didn’t move, anxiety stronger than the flee instinct. His hands were cold in the gloves.

Then Victor had hugged him tightly. He stood before him, a shadow in the shadows. Yuuri didn’t need to see him to know he was there, telling him he had nothing to fear; as long as Victor was with him, nothing bad would happen to him.

"It was a mistake. I’m bringing you back to land."

Yuuri had stopped him before he could reverse the lane. He could smell the sea perfume; the same sea that for some reason decided to protect him instead of killing him. Part of his life belonged to Her now, he couldn’t escape.

"Just stay close to me," he whispered to Victor, returning the hold.

Victor hadn’t let him go, not even for a second.

 

They arrived at the island before it was dawn. Victor was carrying a lantern and Yuuri was holding another. There was an almost unnatural peace in the air, the kind given by places forgotten by humans, so forgotten they have long lost even the aura of danger often abandoned places have.

"Kuril Islands," Victor said, finishing securing the boat. "Officially. I doubt someone has remembered to indicate this little rock on the maps. "

A useful thing when the volcanic islands were at the centre of a dispute between Japan and the USSR. It was almost a cruel joke of fate they formed a natural bridge between southern Kamchatka and Hokkaido.

"They’re also subject to earthquakes, but I guess you are acquainted to them."

Yuuri jerked his head to the side. He couldn’t understand where Victor wanted to go with that; but when Victor made the sign to follow him, he simply obeyed without further questions.

"The house belongs to an old fisherman who hasn’t come here for years. He wanted to be alone, but with age also loneliness became too heavy," Victor recalled, once they were under the lighthouse. From a closer look, the restoration works needed to make the building habitable were clear,

"Anyway, I talked with him and after long discussions, I don’t know how many sea legends, and so many glasses of vodka, I convinced him to rent it, provided I fix it.”

This time it was Yuuri’s turn to stay silent long enough for Victor to call into question all of his plans.

"So?" He heard him almost beg. He didn’t answer yet, too busy grasping the scope of what Victor had done.

"You bought a house for us?"

"Rented," Victor corrected, taking Yuuri by the hand and walking around the building’s perimeter.

"For us?" Yuuri repeated, insisting on the adjective. It had a good sound.

Victor smiled guiltily. They climbed up the hill. There was no longer a real path, since the lighthouse had stopped being used and the old owner had reduced his permanence periods to a few days a year to make sure the building hadn’t collapsed from an earthquake. Until now, it had never happened. The main building of the overall complex had been erected with mastery. Its stocky, a bit squashed shape may seem inelegant, but the large base was perfect to absorb and disperse vibrations.

Still, the lighthouse’s robustness was the only point in his favour. Everything else spoke strong and clear of abandonment and bad weather. The plaster had fallen in several spots, revealing the underlying stones on which large, crusty salty spots spread. At the top of the lighthouse the railing for the terrace was rusty.

The house inside was in even worse condition than the outside. A thick layer of dust and other dirt covered the little furniture present and the stone floor. Yuuri felt his nose prickling as soon as Victor opened the front door with a thick key. The ambience was arranged vertically, with a spiral staircase placed exactly at the centre of the floor to access the upper rooms. The ground floor, as Yuuri soon discovered, was occupied by the kitchen with a gas stove and by a little bathroom. The second floor was empty, but it may be transformed into a small living room or maybe a den. The last one was dedicated to the bedroom. The furniture was kept to a minimum: a chest, a cupboard, a table without chairs and a bed without a mattress. Yuuri opened the tap in the bathroom. The water came out sobbing. The windows were small, little more than slits to hold the heat inside.

Attached to the lighthouse there was a cistern for freshwater reserves, an icehouse, and a cube Yuuri thought to be some kind of pantry.

 

Once again outside, Yuuri couldn’t stop himself from asking the question he had on his tongue since the lighthouse’s tour had started.

"Why?"

"Because I'm not ready for farewells either."

It came out Victor was thinking about the problem way before Yuuri could even begin to perceive it as such. From the first gestures of courtship, Victor was already thinking about how he could keep close the person the ocean brought him for his heart’s delight; if he had succeeded in conquering him.

 

While Yuuri dwelled in his solitude, sure there was no other way, Victor had discussed with Yakov, with Kulivov, with Yurio - for the little time the boy had listened. Victor had studied about tuna fishing in Japan, when was the high season and when boats were put to rest. He then crossed the results with the Vydra crew license periods since it was first launched, with the due approximations.

"According to my calculations, we should be able to meet at least one month per year. Not much, but Yuuri say something.”

 

"What can I say. I think you're crazy. Yes, it's a crazy plan and it cannot work. It's crazy and I'm fine with it. "

Yuuri once had asked the Goddess of the Sea to give him some of Victor's time, when boarding Vydra stopped being a constraint and turned into a choice. He had thanked Her for each passing day, just as he thanked every day for being alive, for the fish, the sea, the wind; for sunny days, for his family. And if the gods wanted to give him another day, another week, another month, or even another year, Yuuri would accept it, trying not to worry too much about the future.

 

Victor put his arm around Yuuri’s waist, obtaining a surprised whimper.

"Victor! What are you doing?"

Victor adjusted the grip on Yuuri’s side, stretching out his other hand in an invitation to be squeezed. Yuuri held it tight. "You once told me you love dancing. There wasn’t enough space on Vydra, but this island should be big enough."

"Barely."

Yuuri chuckled at his own joke. He put his free hand on Victor's shoulder, in a silent invitation to lead the dance. Victor didn’t waste any more time. He hummed, too, with a nice tenor voice.

 

_Sento una voce che piange lontano_

_Anche tu sei stato forse abbandonato?_

Yuuri might have danced the waltz once, but Victor made it easy. When he hinted the first steps, Yuuri simply followed him, like a boat does with waves. And with every step, every twirl, every footprint left on the sand and the grass, the world around disappeared.

"You're ridiculous."

"I'm happy."

 

_Finisco questo calice di vino_

_E inizio a prepararmi_

_Adesso fa’ silenzio_

 

Yuuri's pronunciation wasn’t even as good as Victor’s, who had sung the melody enough times to learn it perfectly. Yuuri had learnt to recognize it as a sign of Victor's melancholy; but this time, rocking in place with his head on the Russian man’s shoulder, he didn’t recognize any sadness in the ballad. Rather, he had the impression Victor had changed part of the words.

_Stammi vicino, non te ne andare_

 

Yuuri smiled behind the scarf, his eyes narrowed to slits. Victor's cheeks had become red due to the bitter cold and the dance. And at one point, Yuuri discovered to be on the other side of the beach.

Victor had made them dance for half the coast, coming down from the rugged side of the cliff, without Yuuri noticing or stumbling even once. He turned his head over his shoulder. He could see the lighthouse front.

"What are you looking at, Yuuri?" Victor inquired with curiosity, gently taking his chin between his fingers. Yuuri leaned over to touch Victor’s lips with his own.

"Our life."

Victor hugged him with enough enthusiasm to lift him from the ground.

"Yuuri, my Yuuri," he exclaimed loudly, as if he wanted to shout it to the whole world, peppering in kisses every uncovered inch of Yuuri’s face.

 

5 APRIL 1978

29°2’13.058” N, 133°1’48.05” E

OFF KYUSHU SHORE

 

Yuuri was back to being a fisherman, because it was his job and his passion. He never went so far North again for work, though.

There was a new crew, new faces Yuuri would learn to know if the newcomers stood aboard for enough time.

Today the sky was clear, a day of fair winds and following seas. Standing on the deck, Yuuri counted the stars. The Ai, this was the new fishing vessel’s name, was alone in the midst of waves; but the young man wasn’t bothered by it. He was aware miles south there were Phichit's _Terra Incognita_ or Guang Hong's _Inferno_.

Above all, he knew somewhere, _somewhere_ under the water, Vydra patrolled the ocean. And he knew on board, there was a young Captain who would surely go down in history and made his heart beat.

 

When Yuuri had returned to Hasetsu, he had been welcomed like missing people are usually welcomed: with amazement, a lot of joy, and above all, many questions.

In order, Yuuri’s sister Mari had shrieked like she had seen a ghost. She then had spent the next few days feigning indifference to not lose her reputation. Yuuri’s parents and teacher, Minako, had tried to engage the whole community in a gigantic homecoming party. The Nishigoris had questioned him until they knew even the smallest details. Their triplets had even contacted sponsors to turn everything into a best-seller.

With the Nishigoris, Yuuri meant both Yuuko and Takeshi. As he soon discovered, the day of the shipwreck the _Eros’_ s Captain had launched an SOS as soon as the storm had begun to get serious. The SOS was received by a British Navy ship, which had retrieved the fishing boat and its crew. Minami had been fished out of water in a hurry, but according to Takeshi's words, he seemed more worried about Yuuri's fate than for himself. They had to put him under sedatives to keep him quiet.

"He almost dived again."

 

Apparently, neither Takeshi nor Minami, but Yuuri, was declared lost at sea.

"Now you have to explain me where you have been. We believed you were dead, swallowed by the Ocean,” Takeshi reprimanded him. He was serious, like every other time Yuuri had put his life in danger; but it also was clear how difficult it was for him to hold back his joy.

Yuuri told Takeshi everything, just omitting to specify Vydra’s exact mission for security reasons; it was simpler Minako stopped her drinking than Takeshi would give to espionage, though.

"Let me get this straight," he summed up, after Yuuri had repeated the story for the third time. "You've been recovered by a Soviet submarine, you've been aboard for three months because first you couldn’t land before, and during this time you fell in love, reciprocated, and I underline _reciprocated,_ with the Captain? "

 

Yuuri had shrugged. “Apparently.”

If he had hoped to drop the subject, he would soon have to change his mind. Not because of Takeshi, who in the end had been content with Yuuri's first timid and brief explanation, though commenting about the whole situation complexity, but because of his daughters. The triplets wanted to know every single detail of Yuuri's adventures, as they called them.

 

 

With the beginning of fishing season scheduled for the end of March, Yuuri spent January in Hasetsu and February putting the lighthouse back on track. Takeshi and Minami had offered to give him a helping hand and Yuuri couldn’t talk them out of it.

At the beginning of March, the house was already looking cozy, just in time for Yuuri to spend the next two weeks on the island with Victor. 

Only then did Takeshi and Minami have the courtesy to leave the tent. Takeshi never failed to make some jokes, especially in Victor’s presence. Yuuri wanted to bury himself in the ground. Victor had even taken him into his arms just like a newlywed bride. Oh, his face was priceless when Yuuri had returned the favour, lifting him effortlessly.

 

“It requires strength to move crates full of fish," had been his simple explanation.

Even the lighthouse was back to work and when neither Yuuri nor Victor could handle it, they paid a boy to make sure it was lit.

Yuuri was aware of the difficulties of the life he had chosen; how fragile their relationship was. But then he saw the sparks in Victor's eyes whenever they could spend some time together and found himself willing to risk everything. As Victor said the first time he had taken him to the island, it was better to regret a taken risk than an untaken.

"Crazy Ivan," Yuuri replied, "sometimes we have to change lane."

Sometimes we crash. And sometimes crashing is a good thing.

On his right-hand ring finger, a thin gold ring shone. Yuuri had bought it in a twinge of courage, giving Victor the twin. It was a thank you gift, a good luck charm, a promise.

 

Suddenly the ocean surface broke. Yuuri lifted the lantern, enough to illuminate the dark waters being divided by tons of steel and cast iron. Two hundred tons of submarine were just a few feet away from the Ai, the periscope high in the sky.

Yuuri waited. He didn’t have to wait long. Soon, the submarine began to send sonar impulses. Yuuri translated simultaneously.

 

S-T-A-M-M-I V-I-C-I-N-O

Yuuri smiled, thinking of Victor awake behind the periscope, while half of Vydra slept and half was in full swing. He thought about how Victor was now Vydra’s Captain 1st Rank, with all the due responsibilities, burdens, and honours. Yuuri smiled as he imagined Victor bent over all the paperwork, with hands in his silver hair he was so afraid to lose out of stress and radiation.

What him and Victor had was little and thinking about it filled him with melancholy, so he tried to savour it every second they had.

 

N-O-N T-E N-E A-N-D-A-R-E 

They spoke all night.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted it to be technically accurate, but at the same time was readable even by those who have no particular knowledge of nautical or interest in the matter. So 50% of the information are based on research I did, while the remaining 50% is fantasy. For example, the submarine on which I based Vydra on was active in the Northern fleet and not in the Pacific fleet.  
> Same thing for the Kuril islands: the archipelago exists, but I invented the island with the lighthouse. Or the nuclear submarine used for espionage missions. But nuclear was cool.  
> Maslov on the contrary is a historical character.  
> Post-WW2 Soviet submarines were usually named with numbers, but sometimes with names of fish and other marine animals. Vydra means "ottery". It had a good sound.  
> The sonar room and the controlroom would be separate, but I felt it "boring" to specify the passage from one point to another every other line, also because often the two ambiences are adjacent.  
> Victor eludes all rules of common mortal logic.
> 
> Betated by the so very kind [star-gleams](http://stars-gleam.tumblr.com/).
> 
> My ask box, mail, DM, whatever is always open. Come to say hello at [ gwen-chan](http://gwen-chan.tumblr.com)  
> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project, which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> The author replies to comments


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